


Unhappy Secrets - A We Happy Few Story

by Sadistic_Sketching



Category: We Happy Few (Video Game)
Genre: Betrayal, Bobby - Freeform, Bribery, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Closeted Character, Depression, Drunkenness, F/F, F/M, Gay Male Character, Lesbian Character, M/M, Murder, Original Character(s), Overdosing, Secrets, Self-Harm, joy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21747613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadistic_Sketching/pseuds/Sadistic_Sketching
Summary: This is a collection of stories of different people in Wellington Wells, following their lives and their relationships, along with how they view their Joy-filled world.ACT 1: Jonathan Wesley (Completed)ACT 2: Horus Hunt (In Progress)ACT 3: AudreyACT 4: Gordon Ellis and Vincent MorrisACT 5: Aggie and OpheliaACT 6: TBA
Relationships: Arthur Hastings & Nick Lightbearer, Bobby (We Happy Few)/Original Character(s), Bobby/Anton Verloc, Bobby/Arthur Hastings (We Happy Few), Nick Lightbearer/Original Character(s), Sally Boyle/Arthur Hastings, Uncle Jack (We Happy Few)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACT 1: Jonathan Wesley

Jonathan stands outside of Lightbearer's bedroom door, his hazel eyes dimming with slight concern for his boss. His voice breaks the silence, loud so it penetrates through the door. "Sir, are you feeling alright, sir? You've been locked in your room for a while now. People are worried."

John jumps as a loud crash sounds from behind the door, and Nick's voice comes out dark and forlorn. "I'm fine! Just....bugger off!"

The personal guard lets out a heavy sigh, folding his arms behind his back. Back in his time as a constable, things were much easier. All he had to do was patrol the streets all day and keep an eye out for any Downers. Now, he felt like a babysitter for an overgrown child. Jonathan was constantly having to keep an eye on Nick, always making sure he didn't get into trouble. And he always had to deal with the rock star's "guests". John wasn't as young as he used to be; he was getting tired more often, and would think too much about the little things. John stills feels the presence of Nick nearby; he must have been leaning against the door.

"I'm going to be going out to get your order from Mr. Cutty, sir. Do you want me to pick anything up while I'm out?"

There's a slurred reply from Nick, but it sounds vaguely like a "no", so John nods and steps from his post. As he heads towards the front door, he curses under his breath; he had nearly forgotten about the sudden renovations Nick had ordered for the large house, which rendered the front door unusable. John rolls his eyes and makes his way upstairs and climbs out of a window and shuffles across the rickety scaffolding. Being such a large height, the small spaces made the ordeal quite awkward for Jonathan, and he muttered a "Thank God" as his feet touched the overgrown grass of the lawn. He begins to walk, but winces as he feels a strong pounding in his head. The edges of his sight darken; something was off.

"Shit...." Jonathan fumbles around his suit, feeling his pockets until he finds what he was looking for. The world continues to darken, the sounds becoming distorted and slowed as he pulls out his pill box and takes out a small pink pill. He sighs and swallows it, shutting his eyes for a moment and willing the Joy to take effect. After a moment, he opens his eyes to the bright world he was accustomed to, smiling under his mask at the butterflies fluttering in his vision. John sets off down the road, nodding his head to the Constables as he passes and exchanging friendly greetings with the Wellies. Soon enough, he's at the Butchery, waiting in line and tapping his foot. A voice speaks up from below, and he looks down to see a small old lady grinning up at him.

"You're Nicholas Lightbearer's personal guard, right, Constable?"

"That I am, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

She drums her fingers together, chuckling as she peers up from her glasses. "Well, I help with the Church, and we were hoping to have Mr. Nicholas help us with this week's Simon Says event. We need someone to call, you see, and it would be an honor."

Jonathan nods his head, but can't help looking away from her. "Ah, yes, of course. Mr. Lightbearer has quite a busy schedule, you'll understand, so I'll have to check in and see if he will be available."

The woman gives a happy clap of her hands, grinning wider under her mask. "Oh, thank you, Constable! You're such a sweetie, aren't you?"

John chuckles, picking up his order and leaving the Butcher's Shop. He clicks his tongue as he dives deep into thought; why would the Church host their own small games of Simon Says when Uncle Jack did a perfectly fine job of hosting games over the TV? Not really paying attention, Jonathan is caught off guard as he feels a force ram into him, making him let slip a grunt. He keeps a firm hold on the package in his hands, his eyes narrowing at the small figure who had run into him.

"Someone's in a hurry, eh?"

The man gasps and stares up at Jonathan, fumbling over his words as he adjusts the glasses on his face. "S-sorry, Constable! Won't happen again!"

Jonathan looks over the features of the man, leaning in a bit close. "Are you feeling alright, sir?"

"W-whatever do you mean? I feel great, actually!"

Jonathan pulls back, nodding. "Righto. You may want to pop a Joy. You're looking a little....down."

The man clears his throat and nods. "Of course, Constable! I'll go do that now!"

"You do that."

The man practically scampers off, and Jonathan continues on his way, whistling that same old tune that he never remembered the name of but always had in his head. He climbs through the scaffolds once again and into the kitchen, throwing the old, rotten food into a bag and setting it by the door before placing the fresh meat inside. He throws the trash away into the alley trashcan, sighing.

"I should have picked up some carrots or onions while I was out. Could have made Nicholas a nice stew to warm him up. Maybe it would even help him sober up a bit." John sighs and slips his mask off, rubbing at his tired eyes. "I'll just do it in the morning....I'm too damn exhausted right now." He puts his mask back on and trudges downstairs, dreading having to deal with Lightbearer again.

John knocks loudly on the door, calling through it once again. "I'm back, sir!" There's no response, so John knocks harder. "Sir! Mr. Lightbearer, sir! Are you alright?" There's still no answer from within, so John sighs and grips the handle, trying to wiggle the door open. When that proves to be unsuccessful, he sighs and takes a breath before slamming his weight against the door. It gives and John looks around the filthy room, nose scrunching at the foul odor of vomit and rotting food. "Sir?!" He looks around the room, finally seeing a figure slumped against the floor. John sighs and walks over, kneeling in front of Nicholas and patting his face. "Sir, wake up."

Nick mutters and slaps John's hand away, coughing before looking up with a small drunken smile. "Jonathan....what're you doing in here?"

John hooks an arm around Nick's waist, the other sliding underneath his knees. He lifts up the musician with ease, carrying him into the bathroom and lowering him into the tub. "Let's get you cleaned up, ey?"

Nick throws off his clothes and sets his mask onto the edge of the tub, groaning as the cold flood of water hits him. John takes the mask and sets it on the counter so it doesn't get wet, then clears his throat as he leans against the wall, looking away so his boss had some privacy. "A woman asked me today if you'll call for the Church's Simon Says event on Sunday."

Nick groans loudly, splashing the water in irritation. A bit of water hits John's slacks, and the guard simply lets out a soft grunt. "Can't people just take the hint and leave me alone....?"

"You're famous, sir. They want to see you." John is silent for a moment, listening to the drone of the shower head. "You used to love the attention."

Nicholas groans again, slumping against the edge of the tub and shutting his eyes.

"....You're taking your Joy, right, sir?"

Nick's eyes open slightly and look over to the tall male, all signs of the party-loving rocker that John was used to vanished, and replaced with a grim face of regret. Jonathan gasps softly, his arms lowering to his sides.

"Sir....you really shouldn't come off your Joy."

Nick huffs and pushes his fingers through his hair. "I know, Johnny, I know....But I....I've been remembering things."

Jonathan frowns, leaning against the counter now and facing Nick. "Like what?"

"The kids....and....other things. I just....I wanna forget again, but it's all fake....The happiness, the smiles, even the bloody food! It's all fake, all of it!" As if to punctuate his statement, he splashes a spray of water against the floor, groaning in frustration. Jonathan is silent for a moment, looking over Nick, calculating him. Nick speaks up again, this time softly. "Are you gonna turn me in?"

Jonathan sighs. It was his job to take care of those off their Joy, but Nick was different. John knew Nick. Nick wouldn't just choose to be off his Joy. "No. I won't turn you in. But....sir, I must insist you try to take your pill. There's no telling what might happen."

Nick rolls his eyes and slowly rises to his feet, drying himself off with a towel and wrapping himself up in a bathrobe. "Tired....I'm heading to bed."

John couldn't help but feel as if he had said something wrong. Nick was being distant with him. Must just be the lack of Joy in his system, John thought. Glancing at the time and seeing it was past curfew, he sighs contentedly to himself before making his way to his room and sitting on the edge of the bed. He peels off his mask and kicks off his boots, running his hands through his dark hair with a yawn. Turning on the radio, he lays down, smiling as Uncle Jack's soothing voice, reciting Hansel and Gretel, fills the room and lulls him to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACT 1: Jonathan Wesley

Jonathan cradles a bag of assorted vegetables for the night's stew, whistling softly before he recognizes the man from a few days prior who had run into him. He nods his head in greeting, but slows when the man gives a small smile up to him.

"You know, sir, I appreciate what you do...." Reaching into his coat, the man pulls out a bottle of scotch and hands it to Jonathan, a friendly smile on his masked face.

Jonathan's eyes light up and he takes the drink, chuckling. "That's real kind of you." He opens the bottle and takes a long drink, the alcohol already beginning to take effect. He tosses the empty bottle into a nearby trashcan, stumbling down the road as the man wanders off. Mixed with his Joy, the scotch muddles his brain, and he soon finds himself in front of the Church of Simon Says a few hours later. John blinks slowly as his blurred eyes peer in through the window.

"Looks like they got someone to call their game after all...."

A figure dances up on stage in front of the contestants, hitting the colored buttons every now and then and announcing the movements. But something was off. John recognized the frilled cuffs and red suit.

"Nick....?" John narrows his eyes to try and force them to focus, but the man on stage wasn't Lightbearer. He was wearing Nick's clothes, but it wasn't him. Suddenly, a dark feeling hits John and he steps from the window, dropping the groceries he was holding and sprinting down the road towards Lightbearer's home. He ignores the fuzziness scratching at the corners of his mind from the alcohol, huffing as he finally runs up to the house. The window he always took to get inside, however, was open.

"No...." Jonathan quickly scrambles up the scaffolds and slips into the window, frowning at the control panel for the traps in the house, which sparks and smokes from the short spike plunged into it. Someone had disabled all of the home's security, including the Downer detectors. "Shit..."

Jonathan calls out for Nick, hoping that for once, the musician would reply to his calls rather than be stubborn and ignore him. But the house is silent. "He's just passed out somewhere...." John mutters to himself, a feeling of unease taking over. He quickly walks to Nick's bedroom, pausing as he sees the door wide open. "Mr. Lightbearer!! Please, answer, sir!" Still, only silence. John exhales heavily, walking to the bathroom and freezing. Nick lies, unmoving, in the bathtub, fully dressed. The water is a few inches deep, completely submerging the power cells that sit at the bottom of the tub.

"....Nick....?" John suddenly feels lightheaded, and pushes a gloved hand against the wall to hold himself up. He slowly sinks to his knees in front of Nick, quickly reaching down and unplugging the drain, wincing at the shock that travels up his arm. Most of the electricity in the power cells seemed to have leaked out when they first touched the water, so rather than being lethal, the shock that John experienced was merely painful. He massages his wrist to try and dispel some of the lingering pain, then reaches out and touches his hand to Nick's face. His flesh was cold and pale, and Jonathan feels something break inside of him. He chokes out a soft sound of distress, feeling for a pulse but finding none, only confirming what he was sure of.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck....No...." John clenches his hands into trembling fists, his breath heavy and labored. Every emotion he had been holding back all these years flooded in at once at the sight of Nick, dead. Jonathan frowns, slipping off a glove and touching his bare fingertips to his cheek, feeling a slight moisture that trails down his mask.

He had forgotten what it was like to cry.

Jonathan rips his mask off and throws it to the floor, hugging Nick close and pushing his face into his neck. He should have been there more for Nicholas, then maybe he wouldn't have....No, Nick wasn't a Downer....Was he? John gives Nick's body a squeeze, his shoulders trembling as he tries to make sense of his thoughts, of his emotions. Happy, be happy. John kept repeating that over and over in his head, but how could he be happy? Nick was gone. The one person John had grown attached to since....since he could remember. Yeah, Nicholas may have been an arse from time to time, but he was never deliberately rude to John. He trusted Jonathan, and John trusted him.

A Downer had to have done this. The disabled traps, the opened window and doors; it all made sense. Someone had come in and killed Nick when he was at a weak state of mind. They took advantage of that; they stole his clothes and even had the audacity to pretend to be him at the Simon Says event. John could go back, beat some sense into that Downer, show him the type of pain Nick must have felt in his last moments. But something deep inside of him kept him from letting go of Nick. This would be the last time he would be able to hold him like this. Right as Nick was going to murmur something to himself, a sound from upstairs startles him, making his body go rigid. If someone saw him now, they would instantly assume the worst. They would assume he was a Downer, and only a Downer could have done something this wretched. He had to take a pill. But John didn't want to forget. If he took his Joy, he would forget about Nick being dead. He would just be on holiday, and Jonathan would eagerly await his return so he could return to his duty of protecting Nicholas Lightbearer.

But before he could even make the decision, he feels a sharp pain in his neck, and a dark voice murmurs from behind. "You really should stay on your Joy, sir....Don't want any Downers, do we?" Jonathan tries to glance back at the source of the voice, but his world goes dark, and he slumps against the cold tile of the bathroom, Nick no longer in his arms.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACT 1: Jonathan Wesley

Jonathan's eyes slowly blink open, his head throbbing from over-sleeping. He is sitting in a chair in a small room, a mirror in front of him. A voice startles him fully awake as it sounds from a speaker mounted on the wall above him.

"How are you feeling, Constable Wesley?"

Jonathan looks up to the speaker with a curious expression, rubbing at the back of his stiffened neck. "I reckon I feel fine, sir, other than a light headache and a stitch in my neck."

"Good, good. That's very good. What's the last thing you remember, Constable?"

John thinks over the recent events for a silent moment. There was a dark patch in his memory, as if someone had cut out a snip. "Well, I suppose the last thing I remember is picking up some vegetables so I could make a nice stew for my boss, Mr. Lightbearer. You see, I make a rather nice stew-"

"Good, that's good to hear." The voice interrupted. "You must be wondering where you are. We found you on the street; it seems you must have had a drink too much and passed out!" He laughs cheerfully. "We thought we should take care of you; don't want the citizens worrying that you might be a Downer!"

John laughs along, even though a small part of him, in the back of his mind, felt unnerved by the cheery voice.

"Anyways, unfortunately, your boss has decided to go on holiday! So you won't need to protect Mr. Lightbearer for the time being."

"Oh...." John couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed that Nick hadn't mentioned this to him before. "How long until he returns, sir?"

"Ah, we can't say for sure. You know how rock stars are; time isn't really a concept they follow. But, as we would hate to see your talents as a personal guard wasted, you will be given a new person to serve."

"Until Nicholas returns?"

"Ah. Yes, of course." He clears his throat. "We have a Sergeant Hunt who will inform you on your new post."

Another voice sounds over the speaker, this one low and serious. "Hello, Wesley. I'm Sergeant Hunt, and I am the lead protector of Uncle Jack."

John gasps. "The Sergeant Hunt? I've heard many things about you!"

"Yes, yes, I suppose you have. You'll be working under me until further notice. Do you understand?"

"Yessir, I understand, sir."

"Good." The door opens, and a Doctor holds it open for a tall bobby, dressed in crimson. His amber eyes practically cut into John. There was a refined air to Hunt; his hair was slicked back, with light grey speckling the sides and roots. He holds his helmet in his arm and gives John a nod. "Hello, Wesley. Glad to hear you're feeling well."

Jonathan pushes himself up from his seat and nods his head respectfully to the higher ranked bobby, who simply nods back and clears his throat.

"Shall we go? We're expecting a....visitor soon back at the constabulary."

The two walk side by side through the hallways of what appeared to be Haworth Labs, and John hums quietly to himself as he steals a few quick glances at Hunt. The taller male meets his eyes and murmurs, his tone dark.

"Why don't you ask what you want rather than gawking, hm?"

"Well....What can I call you? You know my name, so it's only fair that-"

"Sergeant Hunt. Or simply Sarge, for short."

John's eyes narrow in annoyance under his mask as he resumes facing ahead. It would take him a while to get used to Hunt's cold, distant demeanor, especially compared to Lightbearer's eccentric attitude. Johnathan decides to change the subject.

"Will I be able to meet Uncle Jack?"

John can see Hunt's jaw clench underneath his mask. "Not likely. Not at the moment, at least. He's quite busy."

The two walk in silence the rest of the way to the constabulary, where another Bobby practically meets Hunt at the door, and the two murmur to each other, occasionally nodding. Hunt follows the Bobby to where a box is sitting on the counter, which Hunt takes and carries over to where John had been waiting.

"Sorry, I needed to pick this up real quick."

John walks with him towards the broadcasting tower, clicking his tongue. "What is that?"

"Blackberry....we finally got our newest shipment from Miss Boyle. The boys have been getting real....ansty."

Johnathan scratches at his chin, stepping through the door as Hunt holds it open for him. "I haven't been able to get much Blackberry....Lightbearer pretty much hogs it to himself."

Hunt frowns at John, placing his hands on his hips. "That's funny, since Blackberry Joy has been made for the Constabulary, not rockstars."

John tenses, turning and facing Hunt, narrowing his hazel eyes at him. "I don't really care much for your tone. Not that it's any of your business, but Miss Boyle and Lightbearer have known each other from the past and she always has been kind to him, even though they may have parted ways. So, next time before you start poking your head into others' business-"

In an instant, Hunt grabs John by his jacket collar and slams him against the wall, his voice coming out as a low hiss through grit teeth. "I am your superior. You may have been able to get away with that wash up of a musician, but I won't be so kind."

John growls lowly, clenching his gloved fists tightly before he tenses at a voice.

"Sergeant? Why don't you two find a room, hm?"

Hunt glares down at John for a moment more before glancing back and gasping, standing up straight and saluting. "Miss Byng! I didn't know you would be visiting!"

Victoria waves her hand to signal for Hunt to stand at ease. "Yes, I just thought I would pop in and check to see how things were running here. We had a bit of a situation not long ago at the O Courant, so I just wanted to see if anything was happening here."

John notices Hunt swallow hard, a bead of sweat slowly making its way down the Sergeant's neck. "I hope everything met your standards, ma'am."

"As it always does." She clicks her tongue, rubbing her fingers against the edge of the credenza close by. "Except, I sadly couldn't say hi to Jack. The General was hoping to see how he was doing."

Hunt clears his throat. "Ah, he's resting after last night's bedtime story. It took a bit out of him."

Victoria tilts her head, a hand placed on her hip. "Oh? Is he taking enough Joy? That might be a problem. If he takes some more, he shouldn't have a problem sleeping after his nightly broadcasts, so he can be up and at them for the day."

Hunt sighs, murmuring something under his breath. "He isn't as young as he once was, Miss Byng, but I'll make sure he's keeping up on his daily intake of Joy."

"Good," she cooed out. "Very good. On another note, I heard you got your Blackberry today?"

Hunt's composure relaxes a bit as he nods. "Yes, Miss Boyle came through finally. The boys are quite happy."

Victoria nods, obviously not interested in the new subject. "Well, I should be on my way. Need to tend to my flowers." She places her hat on her head, giving John a nod and smiling at Hunt. "Behave, you two. Don't need any....big distractions from work."

Hunt salutes to her as she leaves, then he exhales heavily before grunting in frustration. "Damn stuck-up little bitch...."

John's eyes widen; Miss Byng was the sweetest, most thoughtful woman he knew, other than Miss Boyle. But from Hunt's shown aggression, he decides not to speak against him and follows him for a tour around his new work.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACT 1: Jonathan Wesley

John had been working for Uncle Jack for a week now; he still had yet to meet the very person he was supposed to be protecting. Hunt kept pushing him off, telling him different reasons why he couldn't see Jack. John splashes water on his face to try and wake himself up, his dark hair hanging in front of his face as he sighs. He takes the towel off the rack and dries his face, groaning and looking at his reflection in the mirror. He frowns, his head feeling a bit fuzzy before the bright colors grow cold and dark, an unearthly howl ringing in his ears. John grips the edges of the sink, huffing and clenching his eyes shut.

"No....no....go away...."

The distorted sound of laughter fills his head with the howls and he slumps, sitting on the edge of the tub to keep himself from fainting.

A familiar voice sounds from the back of his mind. It was his. "I heard about your dad passing....I'm sorry about your loss...."

A figure. A brunette with a blurred face stands in front of him. His voice is low and smoothe, but edged with remorse. "It's alright....it's been a long time coming, you know...." The man rubs the back of his neck, sighing. Even though John couldn't see his eyes, he knew that the man was staring into his. "Want some tea, luvs?"

There's another person beside him. A woman. "We'd love that....Thank you."

Then, the chanting.... "Norbert and Johnny sitting in a tree, K I S S I N G!" The blurry woman grinned at him.

Jonathan groans loudly and grips at his hair. "No....I don't....I can't remember...."

The man's voice is soft; they sit side by side. "I've been working on a song....for you...."

"For me....?" A nervous laugh from John. "Why for me?"

"You know why, you dandy...."

Jonathan groans, his head pounding and ears ringing. He roars in pain, slamming his fist into the bathroom mirror, instantly shattering it. He huffs, blood dripping from his cut knuckles, and looks around hopelessly. The sounds and images fade, but the memories remain.

"Joy....I need Joy...."

John wraps his hand up in a towel to keep any more blood from making a mess, then walks into the hall, hoping to find the box that Hunt used to stash the spare Blackberry before anyone saw him. He sneaks through the halls, freezing as he locks eyes with one of the younger constables. The brunette smiles at him, filled with naivety, and opens his mouth, ready to call out John's name. John shakes his head and gestures for him to come over. He obliges, tilting his head curiously.

"Constable Wesley, you're bleeding...."

John nods and sighs, his voice lowered to a murmur. "Look, Gordon, I need you to keep quiet....I'm just looking for where Hunt keeps the extra Joy. Do you know where it is....?"

Gordon lets out a laugh, removing his helmet and unleashing his messy curls. "Well, why don't you just ask him, John? He'd be happy to give you more, I think."

John grimaces at Gordon's simple thinking. "You don't know how he gets, Gordon, I just need to get it without him knowing. I'll be in trouble if he sees me hurt like this, okay?"

Gordon frowns. "Are you off your Joy, Johnny? Uncle Jack says you should take it....It's not good for you to not take it...."

"Dammit, Gordon, listen to me! That's why I need to find Hunt's stash, so I can take my Joy!"

Gordon looks taken aback, his smile falling behind his mask. "You don't have to raise your voice, Johnny, I'm sorry....I was only helping...."

"Do you or do you not know where it is?!"

"Know where what is, Constable Wesley?"

John stiffens at Hunt's voice behind him, and he slowly turns, looking up at him. "N-nothing, sir...."

Hunt waves Gordon off, leaving the two alone. "I don't like liars....Maybe we should go get a Doctor, make sure nothing is wrong?"

Gordon sighs in defeat. "Look, I'm coming off my Joy....but I'm out. I was just wanting to get to your extra Joy so I could....feel better...."

Hunt stares down at him for a moment, then turns and walks down the hall. "Follow me."

Jonathan has no choice but to follow, wincing as he's reminded of the cuts in his hand. He follows Hunt into his bedroom, but rather than going for a hidden stash or box of any sort, he goes to his record player. He hums to himself, flipping through his vinyls before grabbing one and pulling it from its sleeve. He sets it on the player and starts the music, and a familiar tune fills the room.

"This was always my favorite song by them. The Make Believes? But....you already knew who they were, didn't you?"

John looks away, something filling inside of him. "Look, I'll just take that Joy and be on my way-"

"'When You're Gone'....Quite a message behind the lyrics, hm? I wonder....what was he thinking about when he wrote that song?" Hunt folds his arms behind his back, slowly walking towards John. "Who was he thinking about?"

Jonathan looks down at his feet, squeezing his hands into fists, ignoring the searing pain now. "Stop....I just want my Joy...."

"Why?"

"Because I....I can't remember...."

"Why not?"

John's lip quivers; Hunt stands right in front of him, but John doesn't even notice him now. "It hurts....to remember...."

Hunt looms over him, humming the tune in his low baritone of a voice, right in John's ear. He then murmurs lowly, "You two....were very close, weren't you?"

John clasps his hands over his ears, trying to block out the music, trying to block out his voice. His sweet singing over the record that blended perfectly with the sound of his guitar. "No! I just worked for him! N-nothing more!"

"You know he's not on holiday....don't you?"

"No! You're wrong! Just....shut up, shut up, shut up!" John lowers to the floor, his eyes welling with tears. The empty power cell. The bathtub. No. No, he was on holiday. He went on tour. But John had held him in his arms. He wasn't moving. No, that was just a bad dream. Or....was it?

Hunt lowers to a crouch in front of him, pulling off John's mask and setting it down as he gazes at the other Bobby's tear-streaked face and red eyes. "He's dead, John. You are the one who found him."

"NO!! Why are you telling me this?! Just let me forget! I want to be happy!"

Hunt slams his hand against the wall beside John's head, snarling. "Many of us do! But we can't!" Hunt sighs, cupping John's cheek and forcing him to lock eyes. "But this isn't about me....You need to remember. It hurts me to know you'll always be hoping for him to come back, when he never will."

"Y-you're a D-Downer...."

Hunt's lips twitch at the word. "Perhaps. But you'll stay quiet, won't you? Or I'll tell them that you're the true Downer. They'll never take your word over mine."

John lowers his head, knowing Hunt was right, and he sniffles. "Why do you care....? Why do you care if I believe a lie? At least....at least I'll have that hope...."

"Because. I may hate you, but you remind me of how I used to be. And I know the pain of a broken heart, John." He pulls out a purple Joy, holding it out to John. "It's your choice, though. Take it, and go back to your oblivious lie of a life, or remember. And avenge him."

John whispers, staring at the small pill. "No one even knows he's dead....No one can remember him for the good he's done...."

Hunt simply nods, his hand still out with the pill resting in his gloved palm. John sighs, closing Hunt's hand over the pill.

"I can't forget him....If I keep taking Joy, I'll forget him entirely, won't I?"

Hunt hesitates, then nods, slipping the pill back into his coat. "You'll have to pretend you're still taking it, alright?"

John simply nods, memories of finding Nick dead playing on repeat in his aching mind, like a twisted film.

"Let's clean you up, John...."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACT 1 - Jonathan Wesley

Jonathan approaches Hunt, who sits at a table, sipping at tea and writing in what appeared to be a journal. He clears his throat so he didn't startle his superior, and Hunt simply nods his head, his eyes not leaving the pages of his writing.

"What do you have there, Sarge?"

Hunt sighs in exasperation, leaning back in his seat and rubbing a hand over his hair. "It's a journal. Not that it concerns you."

John sits across from him, leaning in close and lowering his voice to a hushed murmur. "Why are you off your Joy....?"

Hunt meets John's eyes and exhales heavily. "This isn't exactly the place to talk about this, John...."

"I just....I want to know...."

Hunt taps his pen on the lips of his Happy Face, pondering for a moment. "Bad batch, I suppose. It just....stopped working for me."

"How....do you put up with it?"

Hunt's eyes wander to the side. "Not well." John opens his mouth for another question, but Hunt holds a hand up in warning. "Look, I'm not someone to ask for advice in this predicament. Becoming a 'Downer' isn't something one really wants to do anyways, so there isn't a right or wrong way to go about it. Some hide it well. Others....they snap." He rises from the table, shutting his journal and gazing down at John. "I would suggest you try your best to hide it."

John frowns and grabs Hunt's wrist, stopping him from leaving, to which Hunt instantly narrows his eyes in a threatening glare. "Look, you're the only one in my same situation....We can learn from each other....and work together. At least open up to each other, you know?"

Hunt pulls himself from John's grasp, fixing the cuff of his jacket. "I'm not interested in 'opening up', John. I have work to do."

"But why continue? When you know what happened?"

Hunt turns and begins to walk down the hall, calling out to John. "I have my own reasons, and those are more important to me....Get some rest, John."

John huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, tapping his foot in frustration before retreating to his room to get rested up and hopefully clear his mind.

\- - -

"I can't believe they're taking them...." John sits on the couch, a newspaper in his hands.

Norbert simply nods, strumming on his guitar and humming, his eyes shut in concentration.

"They can't actually take them, can they? I mean, that's insane-"

"Johnny, it's not our place....If it happens....it happens."

John sets the newspaper down and rises, walking over to the stool that Norbert sits on. He sighs and places a hand on his hip. "Why are you getting all quiet now?"

Norbert looks up with a sigh and sets his guitar on its stand, then buries his face in his hands. "Everyone is scared, Johnny....Have you heard about how everyone is freaking out?"

John clicks his tongue and rubs his hand against Norbert's back, resting his head on top of the younger man's. "I know....I've heard. I just....I don't want to believe we'll actually let it happen...."

John pauses as he hears a soft sob come from Norbert. He lowers onto his knees so he's eye-level with him, his voice coming out soft. "Nor, what is it....?"

"D-did you hear about the Boyles, Johnny?!" Norbert looks up, his face covered with anguish.

Of course Jonathan had heard about it. Everyone had. Sally Boyle's own mum had poisoned the entire family so that the two younger girls wouldn't be taken. Only Sally was spared. John pushes his face into Norbert's neck with a soft, quivering sigh. "Y-yes...."

"Oh, don't you go crying on me too, kitten...."

John feels Norbert's hand on the back of his neck, gently rubbing over his skin and massaging his tense muscles. John relaxes a bit, letting out another shaky breath as he slowly calms down. The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs startles him out of his comfort, as Norbert quickly pulls away and sighs.

"Who could be here at this time of night....?"

John knew better than to complain about Norbert pulling away; it was always better to keep their secret a secret.

\- - -

Jonathan wakes up from his sleep to a loud banging on his door. He groans and covers his head with a pillow, shouting at the door. "Go away!"

The door opens anyways, and soft footsteps make their way to John's bed before a hand shakes his shoulder. "John, I need you to wake up. There's a situation."

John pokes his head out from underneath the pillow, groaning as he stares up at Hunt with foggy eyes. "What is it?"

"Constable Morris, Verloc's personal guard, was attacked earlier today at Haworth Labs. Verloc himself narrowly escaped a Downer who began threatening him."

John bolts up in his bed, rubbing his temples as he starts to wake up. "Wait, how did a Downer get into the labs?!"

Hunt hands John his Happy Face before folding his arms behind his back, gnawing at the inside of his cheek. "He's smart. He knows how to lie and sneak in where he shouldn't be. Sadly, many of our constables are quite....ahem, easy to influence."

John rises from his bed, slipping on his mask and slicking his hair back, sighing before suddenly tensing. "Is this not the first time this Downer has made an appearance....?"

Hunt meets his eyes, raising a brow. "Well, no. It's not. He's been causing quite a ruckus all about town."

John's heart pounds in his chest and his legs wobble underneath him. Hunt has to grab him to keep him from collapsing, and the elder constable speaks with concern. "Wesley, what's gotten into you?"

"He....Do you think he was the one who....?"

Hunt is silent as he registers John's words, then the constable looks to the side, exhaling slowly. "I told Morris we would be there to check on things, make sure the Downer was gone...."

John grips Hunt by the collar of his shirt, snarling with rage and desperation in his eyes. "Is the Downer the one who killed Nick?!"

"Yes!!" Hunt smacks John's hands away, then sighs softly as he clicks his tongue. "Well....we're still not completely sure he directly killed Mr. Lightbearer...."

"'Directly'? What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?"

Hunt seems reluctant to answer. "Well....the boys are talking, and the ones who know the truth behind Lightbearer's disappearance....They think he may have ended things himself...."

John scoffs, clenching his jaw tightly, grinding his teeth together. "No! Nicky wouldn't off himself, Hunt, he was killed!"

"He was a Downer, John!"

"But he wouldn't leave me!"

The two men glare at each other for an extended period of silence before Hunt murmurs. "Sometimes, people don't turn out to be who you thought they were. You'd be surprised at what people will do when they feel all is lost." Before John can retort, Hunt holds a finger up for silence. "We'll continue this conversation later. Right now, we need to check on Dr. Verloc and make sure things are ship-shape."

John reluctantly abides by Hunt's command, and the pair soon find themselves amid the mess of Haworth Labs. The doctor is standing in his office, speaking to a large Bobby clad entirely in white. John notices the look of disdain in Hunt's eyes as he approaches Constable Morris, but chooses not to bring up the subject.

"Morris. It's been a while."

Morris looks up from Verloc with a grin that appears sinister with the Happy Face that stretches the corners of his mouth. "Ah. Horus. It has been a while."

Hunt's eye twitches a bit. Horus, John thinks. That must be his name. Horus Hunt.

Hunt clears his throat, tapping his foot in irritation. "Too bad we had to meet again on such terms. Got fooled by a Downer, did you?"

Morris lets out a low bellow of a laugh, and John finally notices the blood speckled on Morris's suit. "Nah, he didn't fool me, Hunt. He somehow had some sort of, uh, anesthetic, I think. I passed right out."

Verloc cuts in, adjusting his glasses and staring up at Morris. "Sergeant, will you cease this chit-chat? We have bigger things to focus on, and you two can continue catching up later."

"I agree, Dr. Verloc," Hunt coos out, his tone teasing as he looks from the doctor to Morris.

Morris turns to Verloc, his voice lowered, but it doesn't keep John and Hunt from hearing him. "Why are Jack's boys here anyways? What do they have to do with anything?"

Verloc pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. "Vincent, the entirety of the constabulary force here was outsmarted by a single Downer, and you already have enough on your hands. Hell, you're injured. Hunt is reliable, and according to him, this newer addition to Jack's crew is reliable as well. We need all the help we can get."

Morris's face twists up for a brief moment of distaste before he nods and turns back to John and Hunt. "Well, I suppose you two would like to look around for yourselves. If you have any questions, give me a shout."

Hunt nods and turns, walking down a hallway and muttering to himself as John trails right behind him.

"Why do you hate Morris so much?"

Hunt glances down at John as they walk, then looks away, grunting and mumbling. "I deserved that job more than he did...."

John can't help but let out a soft, sharp laugh, which earns a stern glare from Hunt. "I'm sorry, but you're....upset because he has the job you wanted?"

"Wank off! It was disappointing! His performance was just slightly better than mine, so he got to protect the doctor and I protect the TV show host."

"I thought you liked working for Uncle Jack....?"

Hunt sighs and slows down a bit, gnawing at his cheek once again. "I do. I adore it. Honestly, I'm glad things turned out the way they did...." His face scrunches up. "But Morris just had to be a self-righteous prick when he got the job we both wanted. That's what rubs me wrong."

"....I like your name."

Hunt tenses and looks to John before speeding back up, scoffing. "Fucking Morris, cocking up everything."

"Why didn't you want to tell me your name, Horus?"

"Hunt!" Hunt sighs and rubs his temples, clenching his eyes shut. "Look, it's nothing against you. I just would rather not get close to anyone, no matter how nice they are."

John's shoulders fall a bit in disappointment. "Well, let's see if we can find this Downer, I suppose...."

\- - -

The pair return to where Verloc and Morris speak in hushed whispers in the doctor's office, but they fall silent once they see the two enter.

"Well, you find anythin', Hunt?"

Hunt glares at Morris and the smug grin on his face. "Not anything you didn't tell us about, no."

"Well well! Looks like you didn't provide much assistance, hm? What a shame, what a shame!" Morris bounces a bit on the balls of his feet as he sarcastically shakes his head, feigning disappointment.

Verloc elbows him hard in the side, giving him a stern look before looking to Hunt. "Well, thank you for checking anyways, Sergeant. We'll keep you updated, but for now, I have very urgent work to tend to. I've been interrupted for long enough. Come, Morris."

Morris tips his helmet to John and Hunt, giving Hunt a lingering stare before the two leave the office, shutting the door behind them. Hunt slips off his mask, pinching harshly at the bridge of his nose. "I hate him, I hate him, I FUCKING hate him...."

John gives Hunt a bit of an awkward pat on the shoulder, not entirely sure what was and wasn't accepted when it came to physical contact and Hunt. Hunt slips his mask back on and nods to John.

"About time we headed back. Jack is going to be airing quite soon."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ART 1 - Jonathan Wesley

Jonathan flips through some envelopes that people had sent to the broadcasting tower for Jack to read over the air, humming softly to himself as his heels echo through the empty halls. It was nighttime, but John might as well set things up for Uncle Jack for the next day's broadcast. Not like he would sleep anyways. As he nears the set room, he hears a hushed murmuring coming from inside.

"That's rather odd....Everyone should be asleep right now..." He ponders for a moment before placing a hand on the door knob and slowly turning it, when it suddenly stills and won't turn further. "The devil....?" He tries to twist it more, but the door won't budge. Someone was holding it shut, keeping him from entering. He releases the knob, narrowing his eyes as he reaches to the electric truncheon dangling from his belt. John powers it on, filling the small area with the light of the electric hue and the low hum of the weapon. "Whoever's in there better come out now, or it won't get pretty...."

After a moment of silence, a familiar voice calls through the door. "John, it's me. Hunt."

John relaxes, powering his weapon off before slipping it back into place. "What the bloody hell are you doing up at this time, Sergeant? It's much past curfew-"

"I know, I know. Just....I'm taking care of something real quick. I'm fine."

John catches the tremble to Hunt's usually steady voice. "Hunt, what's the matter? What's wrong?"

"Nothing, John, just....go back to bed, alright?"

"I'm not leaving this spot until I know you're alright."

There's a low heavy sigh from Hunt before the door knob rattles softly and the door creaks open a bit. Hunt peers out from the opening, his voice low. "See? I'm fine. Now go."

John clasps a hand over his mouth and stumbles. Blood. Just from the small opening, the strong stench of blood washed over the constable and made his head fuzzy. "H-Hunt....? Why is there....blood?"

Hunt lowers his eyes for a moment, calculating before stepping out and shutting the door behind him. Fresh blood, covering the fabric of his uniform. Even his mask is speckled with drops of blood, almost as if from a spray. "Don't panic, John....I'm alright...."

"Horus....what have you done?!"

Hunt grabs John by his wrist, squeezing tightly and staring into his eyes. "Please....I need your help with this....Don't turn on me now, John...."

John looks down the empty hallway, then to the blood splattered on Hunt, then up to his amber eyes. "W-what do you need help with....?"

Hunt's grip loosens a bit on John's wrist, but he doesn't release him. "I just need your help carrying a....package somewhere. I just need to hide it, you know?"

John sighs and looks to his feet. "Jesus, Hunt....please tell me you didn't kill someone...."

"Just....help me, alright? Please. I'll make it up to you...."

John nods and steps into the room with Hunt, gagging at the scent of blood around them from the gore covering the surfaces of the room. Hunt goes to a large black bag, lifting up one end of it. "Just grab the other end, right?"

He obliges, grabbing the opposite end and helping Hunt carry it out into the hallway. Hunt tells him where to take it, and they carry it out into the street, setting it into a cart of flowers in the middle of the street, all while avoiding the patrolling Bobbies.

When they make it back unseen, Hunt exhales shakily and starts to unbutton the top of his uniform. "I'm going to shower, then I'll need your help cleaning up this mess...."

Hunt leaves before John can say anything, and John is left alone amidst the blood. He finds a chair that hasn't been tainted and sits down, massaging the back of his neck and exhaling slowly. "Hunt, what have you pulled me into....?" John glances about the room, his eyes landing for a moment on a bloodied cleaver sitting in a puddle of blood. It takes him a few moments before he pieces things together, and he jumps as he hears the door creak open. Hunt walks in, wearing only a pair of clean slacks, his hair dripping wet, and his face looking tired. As soon as John spots him, he reaches for the cleaver, gripping it in both hands and pointing it towards the sergeant.

"Y-you're Foggy Jack!!"

Hunt holds his hands up, eyes widening in shock. "John, no, I-"

"You had me help you hide a body! Was he all chopped up, Hunt? Hm?!"

Hunt takes a small, slow step towards Hunt, his voice low and soft. "John....you're not thinking straight."

John scoffs, taking a step back and squeezing the cleaver with trembling hands. "For the first time in years, I've finally been thinking straight, Hunt. W-were you planning on killing me next?"

Hunt's lips twitch into a small sneer as he narrows his eyes. "No, I'm not going to kill you. And I didn't kill him either, alright? I'm just....cleaning things up."

"Why should I believe you....?"

"Look, John, just trust me...." Hunt walks up carefully, taking the cleaver from John and placing it on a table away from him. "I came in and saw him dead. I don't want to cause a panic in the village, so I took things into my own hands to clean things up."

John gazes into Hunt's eyes to see if he could see a sign that he was lying but found none. "But....that means that Foggy Jack might still be here...."

Hunt gazes about the room and shakes his head. "I doubt it. He's not known for multiple murders at once, so there would be no point for him to stick around, you know? Let's just....clean this up, and put this all behind us."

John can't think of anything to say against Hunt, so he joins Hunt in cleaning and scrubbing the blood off of everything in the room. They clean until morning and finish up right before curfew ends, so they have a chance to leave the room before anyone of the Executive Committee sees them. Hunt motions for John to follow him, and Horus leads him to his bedroom, where he digs around in a box of things in his closet before pulling out a red shirt with frilled cuffs.

John gasps, his eyes going wide as he reaches for the shirt. "O-oh my god....How'd you get this, Hunt....?"

Hunt hands it to him, a small half smile on his lips. "Well....when you were picked up from Lightbearer's, I couldn't help but grab one of his spare shirts. Jack's a big fan, so I thought it would be a nice surprise for his collection that he has, but....I think you'd appreciate it just a little more."

John hugs Nick's shirt to his chest, his eyes welling with tears as the familiar scent of Nick's cologne wafts from the fabric, albeit faded. "Thank you....thank you...."

Hunt chuckles, ruffling John's hair gently. "No, thank you. You don't know how much you've helped me, John." He sighs, then lets out a short laugh. "You know? Maybe we can end up being friends."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACT 1 - Jonathan Wesley

The broadcasts were reruns. How had John not noticed it before? He was stoned out of his mind on Joy, of course. He never realized that the same Uncle Jack shows were being played every week. No one who was taking their Joy would ever even notice. Jonathan stares at his radio, hearing the same show about bread additives that he now knew he had heard a hundred times over. Something wells up inside of him. What else was a lie in the world he was in? And how much did Horus know that he was keeping from John? Even though things seemed to be alright after the incident, Hunt seemed to avoid him now at all costs. Hunt said that they could be friends, did he not? John, finally fed up with being ignored, storms towards Hunt's room, but to his surprise finds the room empty.

"Hunt! Where are you?!"

Hunt rounds the corner of the hallway, his jaw clenched tightly as he keeps his eyes forward. "John, we need to head downstairs right now."

John tries to grab for Hunt's sleeve, but the sergeant immediately pulls from his grasp and continues walking. "I need to talk to you!"

"It can wait! There's a Downer loose on the street!"

John's eyes widen and he follows, murmuring to himself, "What is this town coming to....?"

\- - -

Once they get outside, they find a crowd surrounding a small figure outside an alleyway. The two constables push their way through to find a young woman with dark hair, gripping a rusty cleaver and swinging it wildly in warning to keep the Wellies back.

Hunt reaches for his truncheon, his voice coming a threatening snarl. "Miss, put the weapon down now, or things'll get ugly...."

She narrows her hazel eyes at him and raises the weapon above her head, letting loose a cry of fury as she brings it sharply down. Hunt moves enough so the blade doesn't hit his head, but it cuts deep into his shoulder, making blood spurt onto the faces of the nearby citizens and John.

"I'm not gonna step down for a couple puppet Bobbies...." Her lips twitch into a snarl as she continues pushing the blade deeper into Hunt's shoulder, making him suck in sharply from pain and lower onto one knee.

John grabs one of her wrists, squeezing it tightly and drawing her attention to him instead. She glares up at them, but John freezes once they make eye contact. She lets go of the weapon lodged in Hunt, her lips parting in shock.

"....Audrey?"

She scans his features for a moment before letting out a yell, bringing her knee up sharply into his groin and making him let go of her and double over with a wheeze. Now freed from the Bobby's grasp, she whirls around and sprints down the street, eventually disappearing from sight.

John regains his breath, swallowing the lump that had formed in his throat, before turning to Hunt, all attention on him. "Hunt, are you alright?!"

Hunt groans lowly as the crowd begins to disperse, and he holds his injured shoulder as he stares up at John. "Fuck no, I'm not alright...." He sighs, clenching his eyes shut. "I-I need you to pull it out...."

John stammers, his hands precariously hovering over the handle of the cleaver. "Eh, I don't think that's a very bright idea, Horus...."

"I don't give a flying fuck, PULL IT OUT!"

Shocked by Hunt snapping, John immediately clasps the weapon and pulls it out of Hunt, resulting in a large spray of blood as the sergeant howls in pain. "Let's get you back home, shall we?"

Hunt gives a small nod, and throws his uninjured arm over John's shoulder, leaning against him as they make their way back home.

\- - -

"I'm going to be bedridden for a few days, apparently. I need time to heal up...." Hunt sits in his bed, his arm and shoulder bandaged up.

"Well, good, you need the rest...I can tell you don't get much of it...."

Hunt raises an eyebrow at Jonathan. "Why do you really care?"

John gives a sad smile, patting Hunt's leg. "I told you....I would like to be friends, at least."

Hunt frowns at him, then chuckles lowly. "Get out of here, make yourself useful."

John turns to leave, but tilts his head in curiosity as a group of constables sprint down the hallway past Hunt's room, all armed and ready for attack. John and Hunt exchange glances before John decides to follow, chasing after the group. He runs alongside Gordon, who looks sideways at him.

"Gordon, what's going on?"

"We think there might be a Downer in the building, trying to get to the subway tunnels...."

John wonders if it was the woman from before, who had attacked Hunt. "How did they get in?"

Gordon thinks for a moment, trying to form his sentence. "Well, he....he took down the guards at the...at the doors."

"Jesus Christ...." John runs with the group until they make their ways into the closed off area. They all scatter, and John keeps his eyes peeled for any sign of the Downer. Just as he was about to turn back and regroup with the others, he feels a sharp pain on the back of his head, making his vision go dark.

\- - -

"What do you mean, you're leaving?" Nick frowns up at Jonathan, his arms crossed over his chest. "You can't be serious, kitten...."

John sighs, holding a hand over his eyes. "You're such an amazing, talented person, Nick....and I'm nothing like you....I can't compete...."

Nick scoffs and reaches up to caress John's cheek. "Johnny, no, you're-"

John grabs his hand, standing firm. "You have a future ahead of you. Fame, everything. People will love you....I will only drag you down....and, failing in that, you'll drag yourself down, and I won't be able to see you destroy yourself...."

Nick slowly shakes his head. "No....No, I need you....Don't go, we'll make this work, alright....?"

John shakes his head as well and pulls back, turning to the door. "I'm sorry, Nicky...."

\- - -

John regains his balance from the blow, blinking away the stars in his vision as he holds a hand to his head. "The hell....?" Right as he turns, another blow to the side of his head, knocking off his mask and helmet.

\- - -

"You're a fucking idiot, Johnny."

John narrows his eyes at her, placing his hands on his hips. "Where the fuck is that coming from?"

She rolls her eyes, slipping off her apron and tossing it onto the counter, pushing her fingers through her short messy hair. "You're a bloody idiot....Things are going to shit. Everything is falling apart. Families are being ripped apart. Everyone is losing something precious, but you. You had something amazing. A man who cared about you and put you ahead of everything else!"

John pushes himself up from his chair, looming over the smaller woman, their hazel eyes locked. "You don't understand the situation, Audrey, so bugger off!"

Audrey stares up at him defiantly, jabbing her finger against his chest. "I understand that you threw away your only chance at happiness in these fucked-up times!"

John grabs her by her wrist, keeping her from jabbing at him. "Don't act like you know me!"

She tries to squirm out of his strong grasp, but fails, letting her hand go limp in his grip. "You're only pissed off because I'm right! Nicky loved you!"

\- - -

John stumbles a bit before crashing to the hard ground, his eyes trying to keep from seeing double. "Why are you....doing this....?"

A trembling voice from behind stutters, "I-I'm sorry, but....I have to do this....I need to find him...."

It takes all the effort in his body for John to look back at the slender male looming over him, a cricket bat adorned with nails raised over his head. His dark eyes are wide with fear behind his black-rimmed glasses, his chest heaving under his shirt from the effort.

"You're....the one I ran into....you gave me scotch...."

"Y-you remember me?!"

John was finding it hard to focus on his attacker's figure, a hot feeling dripping from where he had been hit. "You....you were also at the....church....you stole his clothes....y-you...killed Nick...."

His eyes widen, his arms shaking from the strain of holding the bat up. "The rock star? I didn't kill him, it....it was an accident...I tried to warn him about the power cell, but....he was too far gone...."

John feels tears welling in his eyes, his voice coming out as a hoarse whisper. "Nicky....wasn't killed....?"

The last thing he hears is Arthur murmuring to himself. "Please forgive me, Percy...." Then, he brings the bat down for a third time on Johnny's head, resulting in a sickening crack as the wood connects with his skull.

\- - -

Arthur huffs and drops the bloody bat beside the body of the constable, pushing his glasses up his nose and swallowing hard. "The things I'm doing for you, Percy....only for you...." When he hears a nearby constable shouting out for the other Bobbies in the area, Arthur takes that as his cue to go, and he sprints down the walkway, heading for the bridge.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACT 1 END - Jonathan Wesley

When John comes to, he stands in the lobby of a brightly lit hotel, his head pounding. He massages his scalp, gazing around the semi-familiar surroundings. Nick would come here often after concerts when he would have a groupie under his arm that he wanted to hide from the missus. John walks down the red carpeted lobby, surprised at the lack of Spankers and Downer Detectors, then realizes that his memories are no longer foggy. He remembers everything; being with Nick, the kids, leaving Nick. Once Joy came around, John and Nick crossed paths once again, and Nick offered him a job as his guard. John had experience as a Constable anyways, so he accepted. At least that way, he could be near Nick and not interfere with his life. 

What would things have been like if John hadn't left him all those years ago? He swims around in that thought as he idly walks, then is pulled from his pondering by nearby, high-pitched squeals. He frowns and turns towards the front door, seeing a group of Bobbies holding back a crowd of squealing women and men, some who were holding up signs with Lightbearer's name on it. John narrows his eyes at the signs; it made no sense. He turns and runs into a cardboard cutout of....Nick? There's a sign attached to it, advertising a concert. 

"That's...that's impossible...." John murmurs under his breath. Nick was dead. He was sure of it. He saw and held his body. 

Behind him, the screams increase in volume, causing him to turn around. His world seems to slow down almost to a stop, the sounds drowning out around him. A man walks out from the pub, pointing finger guns at the crowds and winking. Wearing a bright red top and striped pants, his outfit matches his bright, happy grin, and John stammers to himself, unable to form a coherent sentence. The musician turns towards John, slowing to a stop and parting his lips.

"Johnny....?"

John takes a few slow steps towards him, his heart pounding in his chest. "Nicky....? But....how? You-"

"I know....but why are you here?" Nick walks up to him, gazing up at the constable with concern in his eyes.

John holds a hand to his head, trying to remember. "I don't know how I got here....I was looking for a Downer in the subway, and he snuck up on me....he had a bat, and hit me a few times....then I woke up here...."

Nick stares into his eyes for a moment before wrapping his arms tightly around John's neck, hugging him tightly. "Johnny, I'm....I'm so sorry...."

John hugs Nick back, his hands rubbing at the base of his spine, happy just to be able to hold him again. "Why are you sorry....?"

Nick pushes his face into John's neck, sighing. "I'm think....you died. Last thing I remember was dropping that power cell, and then I woke up here too...."

John is silent for a moment, then simply chuckles, not daring to let go yet. "I guess that's unfortunate....But it doesn't matter....I had nothing there....Everything began to fall apart after you left...."

Nick pulls back so he can look at John again, his arms crossed over his chest as he narrows his eyes. "You're the one who left me, though...." His eyes shift to the side. "You were supposed to be my rock....I needed you..."

"I know....I fucked up...." John brings a gloved hand to Nick's cheek, caressing his face and forcing the musician to gaze up at him again. "But now I got time to make it up to you....right?"

Nick lets out a goofy laugh that practically melts John's heart, and nods, nuzzling his face into John's palm. "You got a lot to make up for, kitten....I've been having a hell of a time here until you showed up...."

John smiles, his hand trailing down to Nick's and he tangles their fingers together, giving his hand a tight squeeze as they walk towards the elevator. "How so?"

"Well, I don't think many people can say they've literally been through hell and back."

John lets out a laugh, stepping into the elevator with Nick. "No, I suppose you're right about that....I expect the full story, though."

"Don't worry, Kit, you'll get it...." 

As the elevator doors close, John pulls Nick close, pushing his lips to the musician's forehead and giving it a gentle kiss, his voice coming out low against Nick's skin.

"I missed you like crazy, Nicky...."

"I missed you too, Johnny...."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACT 2 - Horus Hunt

Uncle Jack sets down the papers he was reading off of once the camera is off, sighing and lowering his head. Hunt approaches him with a small smile, giving him a respectful nod.

"You feeling alright, sir?"

Jack gasps, not hearing his constable approach, then smiles brightly at him. "Of course! Just...my age catching up to me, you know."

Hunt nods, then gestures towards the door out of the recording room. Jack pushes himself up from his seat and exits the room, Hunt right behind him. Hunt whistles as they walk, and Jack looks up at him in curiosity.

"What tune is that, Horus?"

"'God Save the King', sir."

Jack smiles down towards the floor, nodding. "It sounds beautiful when you whistle it."

Hunt chuckles softly and walks Jack to his room, holding the door open for him. "Well, thank you very much, sir. Rest up, alright? Got to get ready for the broadcast tomorrow."

They wish each other a good night's rest, and Hunt shuts the door behind him, stepping into the hall and standing guard, as he did every night until Jack was asleep. Eventually feeling tired himself, Hunt marches to his own room, slipping a Blackberry Joy into his mouth.

\- - -

Hunt is roused from his sleep by loud, desperate knocks against his door. He lifts his head with a frown, pushing himself up and walking to the door, eyeing the truncheon on the shelf nearby. "Who is it?"

Jack's voice comes out shaky and panicked. "It's me, Jack, let me in!"

Horus quickly opens the door, letting Jack in, who wears his pajamas with a thick robe over them. He doesn't wear his mask, and his hair is quite messy from sleep.

"Jack, what is it? What's going on?"

"S-something's wrong....I....remember things...."

Horus narrows his amber eyes, moving so he stands between the bedroom door and Jack. "You're off your Joy...."

"N-no! No, I'm not, Horus! I took my pill before bed!" Jack sits on the edge of Horus's small bed, panting with panic. "C-could it be the batch?"

"You and I have the same batch, Jack. I got it directly from Morris, Verloc's guard. He said it's a stronger formula, so it should work...."

Jack looks over Horus's features, twiddling his thumbs nervously before nodding, clearing his throat. "Yes, yes, you're right....I just....I need to take a couple more, that's all..."

"That's a good idea, Jack....Then you can get some nice rest...."

Jack pushes himself up from the bed, nodding his head to Horus before leaving. Hunt exhales a heavy breath, a bit of relief coming to him. Jack would take a couple more Joy, and then he would be back to his normal, happy, Uncle Jack.

\- - -

Hunt waits in the recording booth, flashing Jack a reassuring smile through the glass as the producer sets up the teleprompter and everyone gets ready for the day's broadcast. Jack flips through his papers, and he receives the signal that the show is starting.

"Hmm....I'm sure I had it right here." He chuckles, continuing to flip through the papers. "You know, there are times you take a little too much Joy, and well you can't remember where anything is, can you? Ah, yes, here it is." Jack flips the correct paper to the front of the stack, tapping them onto the desk to straighten them out.

Horus gives him a nod of encouragement, folding his arms behind his back.

"Um, Mrs. Florence Gilbert of Brougham Hayes is holding an exhibition of her hand-knit dolls. Heh, she likes to make dolls from all over the world, all knitted in wool. You know who would have liked that? Margaret...."

Horus frowns, mouthing the name, finding it unfamiliar. He exchanges a glance with the producer beside him, and they shrug.

Jack stares at the camera for a moment, realizing what he had said. "Who's Margaret?" He tries to laugh to cover up his mistake. "What am I talking about? Who cares about the past? Well, listen, do drop by to see these fabulous dolls at Mrs. Florence Gilbert's...." He trails off, his smile fading. "....She loved dolls, you know. She had dozens of them....from all over." He raises his voice. "I can reassure you there's absolutely no truth to the silly rumor that the food is running out!"

Horus murmurs under his breath, his hands clenching into tight fists. "Jack, what are you doing...?"

Jack squeezes the papers in his hands tightly, forcing his words out through grit teeth. "However, it is true that there's a brand new flavor of Joy!" He lowers his head a bit, pushing his fingers against his temple. "You'd think at twelve, your daughter would be over dolls....but she'd make these darling little costumes. I knew it was wrong. I mean...." Jack's voice begins to quiver. "She was even excited about going to Germany. It was me...I couldn't imagine living without her...."

Horus looks at the Bobbies in the recording booth with him, who all were looking at each other as the tension grew in the small room. "Stop, Jack....They're going to kill you...."

Jack's voice breaks as tears begin to build in his eyes. "So....I hid her. And someone tipped them off, and she ran..." He seems to notice the uneasy looks on the Bobbies' faces, and he clears his throat. "I'm afraid we've come to the end of our time!" Jack lowers the papers, rubbing at his head as he lets out a sob. "It's not going away...."

One of the constables speaks up, "What is he up to, Hunt? Is this some kind of joke?"

Hunt laughs nervously, but keeps his eyes fixed on Uncle Jack, swallowing hard in worry.

Jack clenches his eyes shut, trying to keep the tears from falling. "It's not going away!" He taps at the desk a bit, looking into the camera. "I'm afraid we've come to the end of our time....Do you hear me? We've come to the end of our time! The food's run out!"

The Bobbies start making their way towards the door, shouting at the cameraman. "Turn that blasted thing off now!"

Hunt, torn between his loyalty to Jack and to the constabulary, gnaws at his lips in indecision before pulling out his truncheon and slamming it between the shoulders of one of the Bobbies. The electric shock makes him tense and groan in pain before he crashes to the ground, unconscious. The other Bobby looks to Hunt with widened eyes.

"The hell do you think you're doing?!"

"We're keeping that tape rolling...."

"Y-you're a Downer!"

Hunt's eye twitches as he hears soft footsteps approaching from behind, and he brings his elbow back sharply, hitting the producer in the face and knocking him out as well. "Get away from that door, Constable!"

The Constable is still for a moment, his hands up defensively before he nods and shuffles away from the door, keeping his eyes on the weapon in Hunt's hands.

"We're all going to starve to death!"

Horus looks through the glass to Jack, hoping that what he was doing was right. Something had changed in Hunt. He now understood that everything Jack was saying was true.

"You have to stop taking your Joy!" Jack jabs his finger towards the camera. "Take it from Jack Worthing....That's me. You all have to stop...." Jack clenches his hands into tight fists on his desk. "You all have to stop! Stop! Stop it!"

The constable, seeing Hunt is distracted by Uncle Jack, starts to inch his way towards the police Popper, but Hunt's head snaps to his direction and he sprints at the constable, slamming him against the wall. The constable grunts from the force of Horus slamming into him as his helmet is thrown from his head, then elbows him in the gut, making Hunt stumble and release him. He makes another move towards the Popper, but Hunt grabs at a loose pipe laying on the floor, bringing it down onto the back of the constable's head with a wet squelch. The constable collapses on the ground, twitching lightly and letting out a disturbing gurgle, and Hunt brings the pipe down as hard as he can over and over, until the constable's face is just a bloodied mash. He pants and drops the pipe, wiping his brow and slipping off his Happy Face, dropping it onto the floor as he walks to the glass to continue watching Jack.

"But you won't stop, will you?! You won't....I'm afraid we've come to the end of our time!" Jack suddenly bolts up from his seat, pulling a cricket bat from underneath his desk and running to the tables near him, smashing them apart while shouting "We've come to the end of our time!" over and over. He goes about, destroying the room, before walking to the camera, panting and gritting his teeth. He looks into the camera, hissing out through his clenched teeth. "We've come to the end of our time!" With that, he smashes the camera to pieces with the bat; the cameraman had long since deserted his post, so there's no one there to stop him. Jack drops the bat with an anguished cry, tears streaming over his Happy Face. Horus walks into the room and wraps Jack up in his arms, hugging him close as the man breaks down into sobs.

"It's okay, Jack, it's okay....You did good...."

Jack grasps onto Horus's bloodied coat, sobbing into his chest as Horus hums the tune from before, rubbing his back comfortingly as they stand amidst the ruin of the studio.


	10. Chapter 10

Horus sits with Uncle Jack in his room. He held the shivering man in his arms; neither of them said a word. Nothing needed to be said. Horus's mind raced. What had gone wrong? Jack and Horus weren't Downers; they were some of the most happy people in Wellington Wells. So why now? Was it truly a bad batch? 

The sun had already risen, and Horus finally released Uncle Jack, making the male whimper in protest.

"I'm going to clear this up, sir....Soon, we'll be happy again."

Jack has a tight hold on his Constable's jacket, but he nods, releasing him and looking down into his lap. "I don't want to remember, Horus..."

"Neither do I....but I'll make sure I straighten things out." Horus adjusts his suit and grabs his helmet, slipping it on and fixing his gloves. "I'll be heading down to the labs. Get some rest."

Jack nods, exhaling and laying down on his bed, not bothering to cover himself up with the blankets. Horus locks the door behind him; no one needed to see Jack like this. He makes his way down the streets of the town, trying to appear as normal as he could. It was a child, for God's sake. You killed a child. Horus clenched his eyes shut for a moment, a rush of bile building in his throat that he swallows down. He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember the past, no matter how horrible it was. Finally, he finds himself in front of Haworth Labs, his tired eyes narrowed at the gates. Stepping up to the intercom, he pushes the button, speaking into it and trying to sound as happy as he could.

"Hello! It's Sergeant Hunt, and I would love to speak to Sergeant Morris. I have some personal business to attend to."

The Bobby at the front desk lets Horus inside, giving him a friendly smile and a respectful nod as Horus walks past. Horus storms down the hall, coming into the office that lead to Verloc's personal space, where Morris sits, looking at the paper and raising his voice to the other Constable.

"Horus. What brings you here? Need more of those pills?"

Horus, with anger in his eyes, walks around the desk and punches Morris as hard as he can. The guard grunts from the impact, his mask flying off his face from the punch. He glares at Horus with wild, angry eyes, blood dripping from his nose. 

"What the bloody hell has gotten into you?!"

Horus snarls and grabs Morris by the collar of his shirt, lifting him and slamming him against the wall. "YOU GAVE ME A BAD BATCH!"

Morris grunts from the impact, then stares down at Horus for a moment before tossing his head back with a loud laugh. He meets the other Constable's eyes once again, his tongue darting out and licking some blood that had dripped over his lips. "Ahhh, so you were one of the unlucky ones."

Horus slams him against the wall once again, his anger only rising as Morris seems to mock him. "How long have you been releasing bad batches?!"

Morris clicks his tongue, dramatically tapping his finger against his chin as he looks up. "Well, I don't reckon I know exactly. Joy has been fogging up my brain a bit."

Horus roars in frustration, throwing another punch but gasping as Morris grabs his wrist tightly, stopping him from punching the other guard.

"Not a smart move, Constable." Morris gives Hunt's arm a twist, making Horus cry out in pain and try to pull away from his grip. Morris shoves Hunt to the ground, then gives a hard kick into his side. Horus winces in pain; something definitely cracked from the force of the kick, and pain engulfs the entire right side of his body. While he tries to curl into himself to avoid another blow, he heard Morris cackling above him, kicking him in the same spot again and again.

After a moment, Horus coughs weakly as Morris stops, his body screaming in pain. Morris crouches down, pinching Horus's chin and forcing him to look up at him.

"You do not come into my office and attack me, then accuse me of something you can't prove. Next time, I won't be so sweet." He rises back up to his full, towering height, and gazes at Horus as he struggles and pushes himself up.

Horus winces and clutches his side; it hurt to breathe. He definitely had at least one cracked ribs, maybe more. Morris was strong. Amazingly strong. "Jack....he began remembering...."

Morris licks the blood from his lips once again, crossing his arms over his chest as he raises a dark brow at Hunt. "I don't see why that's any of my business."

"If he becomes a Downer...-" Hunt winces sharply, trying to catch his breath. "He's what distracts the people, Morris. If he turns Downer....what will happen to the village?"

Morris rolls his eyes. "You're overreacting. It won't get like that. You two just aren't taking enough Joy-"

Ignoring his previous threat, Hunt pushes through his pain and stands toe to toe with Morris, glaring up at him and jabbing a finger against his chest. "You will get me a batch that works as soon as you possibly can, or else I'll-"

Without any sort of warning, Horus feels Morris's lips against his. His eyes widen at the sudden action; he can taste the other Constable's blood on his lips. He pulls back, wiping his lips on his sleeve as he stares up at Morris. "Did....did you just kiss me?!"

Morris cups Horus's face in his gloved hand, and Hunt is too shocked to pull away. "Your dedication is admirable....How fueled you are. That drive. If you weren't off Joy, you would never discover that spark."

Horus slaps his hand away, scoffing and taking a step back. "I could report you-"

Morris chuckles, crossing his arms back over his chest. "To what? The Executive Committee? They're a bunch of idiots stoned out of their minds on Joy. They'll forget your report in two seconds. And in case you've forgotten, I am the personal guard to Doctor Verloc. My word would be taken over yours easily."

Horus stammers, at a loss. Morris had him backed into a metaphorical corner. 

Morris continues. "And besides. You came in here, off your Joy, and attacked me without warning. Doesn't look very good, does it?"

Horus's cheeks flush in anger. He was beat. "Fuck you...." He clenches his hands into fists at his sides and storms out of the office, Morris's laughter echoing behind him.


End file.
